


Branches of Fate

by blazichu



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen, Spoilers, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazichu/pseuds/blazichu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had already been a long night. Waking up in the junkyard-- again-- was only icing on the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branches of Fate

Sissel blinked once, then twice. They were in the junkyard. _Why_ were they in the junkyard?

By ‘they’, of course, he meant girls—free from the submarine, for whatever bizarre reason— Detective Jowd, Yomiel, and…yes, there was a spirit flame that had to be Missile, emanating from an old, cracked sink. Actually, come to think of it, he’d somehow found a home inside a broken vacuum cleaner. Go figure.

From the look of things, nobody else was conscious, just yet; a gentle prod in each direction confirmed this. If Sissel hadn’t been a busted household appliance, his whiskers would have twitched in annoyance. It was…strange to think that, after identifying as a human, he’d turned out to be a cat. Well, a dead human and a dead cat, but the point was still the same. The feeling would probably fade with time—he was still trying to reconcile the image of the world that he’d formed post-mortem with the world he’d known before death. It wasn’t like being a cat was boring or anything, it was just different. Missile was a hyperactive Pomeranian and he got along just fine, so how was this any different?

The feline turned his attention back towards his companions; Lynne and Kamila were curled up next to one another, and Jowd was sprawled out nearby, as comfortable as someone could be in a dump. Yomiel’s position, on the other hand, made him wince, for more than one reason: one was that it certainly looked uncomfortable… and the second was that he was laying haphazardly in that rickety red armchair, which brought back nothing but unpleasant memories. Not a whole lot had changed in this part of the junkyard, though, and it didn’t look like there was anything he could manipulate to change his former master’s position. But…he’d missed important details before—maybe if he could get a second opinion…

Of course—Ray!

It was easy to pick out a path toward the lamp, he’d been through it a dozen times or so, over the course of the night, so having trouble with the task would have been a distressing sign. As he’d become accustomed to doing, he reached out a spectral hand—er, paw—to get the other spirit’s attention…and belatedly realized that the fixture was as empty as he’d once assumed Missile’s head to be. Not knowing what else to do, he simply surveyed the scene from this different angle, trying to pick up on something he’d missed before.

Actually… a change of perspective was all he’d really needed; there was lever for…something on the chair. Sissel was certain he’d seen chairs like that before, but, being a cat, he wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to do. He intended to remedy that tonight. He retraced his path to the chair and paused, assessing his options. Apparently, the lever was supposed to make part of the chair spring up, but that was the reason that it was in the dump: that mechanism was broken. Maybe it was a deal breaker for a human, but it was a trifling matter to someone who could operate something from the inside out.

That was just what he’d been looking for, too, since the footrest sprung up jostled Yomiel enough to alter his position. He looked a little bit more comfortable, at least.

Hopping over to a nearby piece of junk—to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what it used to be, but it was large, hollow and square-ish—Sissel sighed. He would have curled up, if he’d had a body to do so with, but as things stood, he didn’t.

 _“Sissel?”_

The ghostly feline glanced around for the source of the ‘voice’, before belatedly realizing that it had to be Missile, and rolling his incorporeal eyes at himself.

 _“What is it, Missile?”_ He asked, it sounded lazier than it was supposed to, really, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care much right now.

 _“I’m still really sleepy, and Miss Kamila and Miss Lynne are keeping each other company. You’re alone too, so…you wanna sleep with me?”_ It was a perfectly innocent question, but the part of Sissel that was still clinging to being a former human found something off about it. The rest of him, on the other hand, was as unenthusiastic about that as he’d been just a moment ago.

 _“What do you mean?”_

The Pomeranian jumped from his spot in the kitchen sink over to the unidentifiable contraption and, if Sissel had been an actual cat instead of a dead one, he would have inched away. (Really, he had to stop thinking ‘if’. He was dead and that was that.) Missile didn’t notice the feline’s unease, though, and casually opened up a mental link between the two of them. The canine projection was as puffy as ever, if not a bit more bleary-eyed; he wasted no time in circling around once or twice, and plopping himself down.

 _“C’mon Sissy, it’s time to sleep!”_

Sissel eyed him doubtfully, _“In the middle of a junkyard?”_

The dog cocked his head, _“We’re not in the junkyard right now, though. And besides, the humans are sleeping there!”_

He barely stopped himself from thinking anything snarky about that, not wanting to put Missile out… and, after a moment’s consideration, padded over to the dog’s spot, and settled himself an inch or two away from the other. Missile promptly responded to this by closing the gap and curling up at Sissel’s side, nose pressed into the fur of his chest, just below his bandana. Surprised by the bold move, the cat didn’t do anything for awhile, but, eventually, settled his head gently atop Missile’s. It wasn’t like he was actually going to fall asleep, anyway…

\-----------

Detective Jowd was the first to rouse himself, perhaps because of the fact that he was, in actuality, passed out on the ground in a dump. This fact seemed to immediately register in his mind.

“What in the world…?”

 _“My sentiments exactly,”_ Sissel purred, sounding nonchalant even to his own ears, _“For a while, I was wondering if I was just insane or what, since Missile didn’t find anything strange about sleeping in a junkyard.”_

The somewhat familiar presence seemed to reassure the detective… to a degree. He laughed, at any rate. “I’m not sure you should be talking, since you were a stray the first time we met.”

 _“Touché.”_

“So...you don’t have any idea what happened or why we’re in the junkyard?”

From the link he’d crafted with Missile, Sissel frowned—or rather, his whiskers twitched in vexation. _“I’m assuming you aren’t talking about the whole ‘abusing-the-one-day-rule-and-changing-the-distant-past’ thing, so no, I couldn’t tell you. Strange that nothing seems to have changed much, though.”_

Jowd simply nodded, glancing around the immediate area—his gaze immediately locked onto Lynne and Kamila, before panning over Yomiel (not without raising an eyebrow, though) and settling on Sissel and Missile’s current anchor to the world. His lips twitched upwards, “Should I rouse the troops?”

 _“I’ve been trying for ages, but you know how it goes.”_

The detective hummed in thought and nodded, “Yeah, no voice to yell at them with, no claws to ‘encourage’ anybody… I guess you could manipulate some trash to whack someone, but that might be overkill.”

 _“Emphasis on ‘kill’. I’d really rather not go back in time again, tonight.”_ Something about this statement seemed off the mark though, and Sissel blinked, trying to remember what that would be. He realized what it was with little prompting, and looked up at the sky more calmly than he felt, _“Detective? Could you tell me what time the sun rises?”_

If Jowd was puzzled by the inane question, he didn’t show it. Instead, he brought a hand to his chin and seemed to consider the point, “This time of the year, about six, I think.”

 _“What time is it now?”_

The blonde instinctively glanced at his wrist, but wasn’t wearing a watch. “Give me a minute and I’ll wake Lynne. She’ll have a watch somewhere on her, besides that ‘pocket watch’ of Cabanela’s.”

As Jowd went about ‘rousing the troops’ as he’d put it, Sissel debated the pros and cons of waking Missile. It was probably best to let him sleep for now… for all of their sake. He was brought back to the ‘real’ world by Lynne’s voice; the lady detective was rubbing at one eye, looking puzzled. Sissel caught her digging through one of her pockets out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to survey a mostly-still-asleep Kamila. It was harder to look at Yomiel; his position just didn’t warrant a decent angle.

“Uh…five-forty. Why, detective?”

It was five forty, and the sun would rise at six… He had twenty minutes left. Might as well make the most of them, right?

The detective simply shrugged his broad shoulders at the question, turning to look at the metal box, “Sissel?”

He hesitated—was it really right to burden the others with that knowledge? But… on the other hand, was it fair to just disappear on them without any explanation? Neither option was particularly appealing, but seeing as he’d just spent the entire night looking for all sorts of truths, perhaps it was better to be frank.

 _“I’ll disappear at dawn; I only had tonight to figure everything out.”_ In the ghost world he set his head back down on Missile’s, waiting for what would come next.

“What!?” Lynne boomed; the volume was impressive for someone who looked so petite, but it shouldn’t have been too surprising, given the amount of chicken she could put away, “But—but we spent all night trying to stop Yomiel and save Detective Jowd! All we found out about who you were is that… wait, we actually made things _worse_!”

Jowd looked disapproving, but couldn’t find any fault with the feline; mentioning that little detail only would have made things more frantic, since they would have tried to pull double duty. They’d unraveled all of the mysteries, in the end, so splitting their resources would have been a colossal waste. Fortunately, Kamila didn’t seem to hear everything, and her only input was a sleepy, “Sissy? What’s goin’ on?”

For several moments, Sissel made a couple of half-hearted attempts at stopping Lynne, lacking in enthusiasm simply because it was quite obvious that she wasn’t about to be interrupted; that assumption was proven faulty a moment later, though, by the last voice in the party.

“That’s garbage.” Yomiel cut in, staring directly at the trash that Sissel and Missile were occupying. “Take it from me, ghosts don’t just ‘disappear’ the morning after they die.”

 _“Yeah... No offence, Yomiel, but you aren’t really a standard case. You know, Temsik fragment and all that.”_

An eyebrow raised above the lens of the man’s sunglasses, “No? I seem to remember spending the first year of my nonexistence sharing a body with you; that’s my equivalent of possessing objects, so I really don’t see the difference.” He paused, suddenly looking rather irked, “Who told you that?”

Sissel glanced in the direction of the motionless lamp, and felt his whiskers twitch again, _“I don’t know; he possessed that lamp over there and refused to tell me his real name. Come to think of it, he shouldn’t have even_ had _ghost tricks…”_

“We’ll figure it out eventually,” Yomiel unintentionally followed his gaze, and his frown deepened before he turned back. “Trust me, pal, you’re fine. Ghosts don’t disappear any more than you already have.”

Sissel simply hummed in acknowledgement, not sure whether to accept that or express further doubt. In the end, he was saved from this decision by Jowd.

“Well, now that another crisis has been averted, I have to ask… do we really want to spend what’s left of the night in the junkyard?”

The general consensus was ‘no’, of course.

“We can go back to our place for now,” Lynne offered cheerfully, gesturing toward Kamila and herself, “It’s not big, but it’s better than the dump, at least. Should we tote some junk back so you can catch a lift, or do you guys want to use the phone, Sissel?”

There was a timid “Uhhhh” from Kamila, who knew darn well that this wasn’t an option, since the phone was temporarily ‘out of commission’. The spectral feline took pity on her, and spoke up in the little girl’s stead.

 _“Your phone’s out—it was that hit man, One-step-ahead something-or-other, who broke it… so pick whatever looks least offensive.”_

As Lynne rooted through a nearby pile of junk and Jowd and Kamila held a mostly one-sided conversation—since the girl was still so sleepy—Sissel experimentally made a jump from the nameless _thing_ to the vacuum, and wasn’t entirely surprised to find that he’d brought Missile along for the ride. Yomiel seemed to be watching this, since he shifted slightly to keep them within view as the vacuum-whatever trip was made again, simply because the latter was more accessible for a human.

“Eh,” Lynne said, after a moment, “How about the pocket watch?”

 _“That’s fine.”_ The cat replied, lifting his head and twitching his tail, aware that nobody had felt the need to open a link of his or her own, and, therefore, were completely ignorant of the action. He hoped the sudden appearance wouldn’t startle Lynne, but didn’t give any further warning as he hopped over toward the watch that was being offered to the junkyard as a whole.

The lady detective squeaked in surprise as the feline overshot by just a bit, accidentally coming into contact with the woman’s own core. “O-oh. Hello, little kitty! Did Missile find you somewhere?”

Sissel twitched his tail again, bemused, before it dawned on him that she hadn’t seen the real him—last she’d known, he’d looked like a generic spirit. Actually, that explained her outburst earlier, too. _“Well, I suppose he found me a couple of times, but if memory serves, I found him first.”_

Distantly, he recognized that Yomiel and Jowd had joined in, as well; the former’s expression had softened somewhat, at the sight of the cat, while the latter seemed to be taking a criminal amount of amusement from the scene before him. “What’s the matter, Lynne? You recognize our furry little friend here, don’t you?”

“I…sort of.” Lynne claimed, though the blush settled over her cheeks was proof that she didn’t, “Why are you here, kitty?”

 _“I died here, of course.”_ Sissel replied evenly, speaking up again when she opened her mouth to inquire further, _“But, since I know that I have time, that’s a story for another day.”_

“‘Since you have the ti—’ _Sissel_!?” The redhead’s eyes widened considerably, “You’re telling me that I’ve been collaborating with a cat all night?”

 _“You don’t have to sound so scandalized,”_ He shot back wryly, _“I’m the same ghost you talked to just a minute ago; don’t feel like you have to treat me any differently.”_

“I…I guess you’ve got a point.” Lynne seemed to consider this for a minute, and perked up, “Alright, let’s get out of here! I’ve really had enough of waking up in this junkyard for one night.”

 _“Yeah, you’ve died here how many times tonight?”_

“Oh hush,” She said, cheerful tone betraying the somewhat bitter words, “You naughty little kitty.”

With that, she withdrew from the link; Jowd had already done so a few moments earlier, and was in the process of hoisting Kamila up, demonstrating exactly why he’d been called a doting father earlier in the night. Sissel’s attention immediately shifted to Yomiel, the only one who remained; for a few seconds, neither said anything, but the cat’s whiskers trembled in a variation of a smile. _“Come on, Yomiel, I think you’re invited, too.”_

After a hesitation, the man nodded and he began to extend a hand, as if to ruffle the fur on the feline’s head, but seemed to think better of it. On that awkward note, he, too retreated into the real world. Seeing no reason to focus on the ghost world, Sissel tuned back in as well, just in time to catch part of a conversation between Lynne and Jowd.

“-don’t have to worry about him. After everything we’ve seen tonight, I doubt the guy’s going to cause any more trouble.”

Ah. Maybe it was a good thing that the red-garbed man was still trailing back a ways. Whatever Lynne had said before that couldn’t have been complimentary.

The redhead bobbed her head slowly, “If you say so, detective. I mean, I got the feeling it would be okay, but I just wanted to be sure, you know?”

Jowd nodded once, but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” She said a bit more loudly, sounding far too peppy for someone who’d died upwards of four times within the past twelve hours, “I’m definitely ready to call it a night, how ‘bout you?”

\-----------

Despite her claim, Lynne didn’t join Kamila in unconsciousness when they reached her apartment. Instead, she dragged an extra chair into what could loosely be called the living room and turned it around so that she could rest her arms on the back of the chair, and then set her chin on her arms.

‘You know,” She spoke up, eyes half-lidded and a tired smile on her face, “I’m completely worn out, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a week.”

From where he’d settled himself on the floor—apparently there was still some trace of doubt, since he’d opted not to join Yomiel on the couch, even at the opposite end—Jowd nodded, understanding clear on his features, “You’d better get used to that; it’s what being a detective is all about.”

There wasn’t any verbal reply from Lynne, though there was a rather unenthusiastic moan. When _that_ of all things ended up being the key to waking Missile up, Sissel nearly responded in kind.

 _“Mornin’ Sissy! Where are—hey, we’re home! Oh goodie, I was starting to get homesick!”_

The Pomeranian immediately perked up and glanced around the room excitedly, though his ears drooped a bit when he failed to come across one particular person. _“Miss Lynne, where’s Miss Kamila?”_

“She’s in bed, Missile. Do you want me to take you to her?”

And just like that, he was jumping off the metaphorical walls again. _“Yes please, Miss Lynne!”_

 _“That’s it, I’m out of here.”_ Sissel cut in, jumping over to the rolling cart, now that he’d been freed from the dog’s clutches.

Lynne rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment on the cat’s poor manners. Instead, the opted to head back through the small abode to the single bedroom, which was terribly cluttered, since it housed both of the girls’ beds. Watching her go, Sissel sighed. Jowd, apparently, took this to mean something deeper than ‘I sure dodged a bullet, there.’ He really had no desire to get involved in another of Missile’s cavity-inducing dog/mistress moments.

“Something wrong, Sissel?”

Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to complain about a girl and her dog in front of that girl’s father, so he chose to address another topic, _“I’m getting really tired of defining myself as random junk.”_

He rolled the trolley back and forth a bit, as if to demonstrate the fact, but only succeeded in looking ridiculous. Jowd opened his mouth to reply, but rapid footfalls from nearby drew his attention away, which was fortunate, since a second later Kamila barreled through the room toward her father. Just to be safe, Sissel hopped away, again, and was immediately rewarded by not being flung across the room; he huffed in annoyance, but couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at the girl—she couldn’t have known where he’d anchored himself.

Kamila didn’t say anything as she curled up on the floor next to her father, practically strangling a stuffed animal in her grip. Somehow, it seemed like just being in the same room was intruding on them.

Sissel couldn’t help but think that Missile would be disappointed, though; he’d just woken up, and been so happy with the prospect of seeing his mistress again. A happy yip from beside the pair made him rethink this point, though, and, on a hunch, he checked out the spiritual plane. Yes, there the dog was. Inside the plush toy.

Another set of footsteps heralded Lynne’s return…and she was carrying another stuffed animal. Oh no. _Hell no_. She was _not_ going to get him inside that, that… what _was_ that?

 _“No thanks.”_ He spoke up, before she could draw attention to the fact that Kamila’s plushie was, for all intents and purposes, possessed, _“I’m happy here, thanks.”_

Jowd glanced in the phantom feline’s general direction, unintentionally giving his position away.

Lynne smirked, “Sissel, you’re a _couch cushion_ ; I think this is an upgrade.”

 _“No thanks, I’m good.”_ Sissel drawled, trying to sound like he was perfectly comfortable in place. Truth be told, being pinned in place by the couch’s frame and the other cushion instilled a vaguely claustrophobic feeling in the cat, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He could always jump away later on and claim that he’d wanted to get a better look at something.

Sly expression still firmly in place, Lynne tilted her head to one side in a thoughtful gesture…before launching herself across the room without any warning, and landing on the cushion in question. Sissel yowled in surprise, and instinctively hopped to the nearest available object…which, of course, happened to be the unidentifiable plush toy that the lady detective was still holding. By the time his nonexistent heart had stopped beating a mile a minute, something occurred to the cat: he wasn’t being held by Lynne, anymore. Instead, he found himself—or the plush…thing, at any rate—securely gripped by Yomiel, who was scowling at the redhead. Looking stunned—and rather nervous—Lynne moved back over to her chair, eager to put some space between them.

“I—uh, sorry.” She ventured, “I was just trying to—”

“You’ve already done enough.” The red clad man cut in coldly.

Sensing that this was going to go downhill fast, Jowd scooped Kamila up again and made a move to put her back to bed, but hesitated and, after looking ridiculous whispering to the ratty old stuffed animal the girl was carrying, carefully extracted it from her grip, setting it down close enough for Missile to hop over, if need be. Upon catching sight of Lynne puffing her cheeks up in agitation, he quickly vacated the room, hoping to let his daughter sleep uninterrupted.

“Hey, if this is about dying all those times, it’s not my fault! I mean turning the murder machine on was kind of dumb, and I guess I could have avoided death-by-chicken if I let Memry be hit by that van, but—”

“You got your life back, though.” The blonde pointed out sourly, “And how many second chances did you get?”

“What?” The lady detective shot back, sounding thoroughly confused, but no less indignant.

“Sissel didn’t have to die, but there wasn’t anybody around to save _him._ By the time I realized that yo—”

 _“Yomiel,”_ The cat piped up, sounding somewhat more subdued than he’d intended, _“I told you before, it’s in the past. That isn’t something we need to dwell on.”_

Something in the exchange had, apparently, caught Lynne’s attention, though; her eyes were shining with a familiar—and disconcerting—determination. “Hey, Missile was able to save Kamila, right? So maybe he could—”

If he’d been able to manifest himself, Sissel would have shook his head tiredly, _“No, if we reverse my death, it would be asking for trouble: I wouldn’t be able to save you, Detective Jowd would be executed, those blue weirdos would get off scot-free… and it’s kind of complicated, anyway.”_

“Complicated?” The detective snorted, “No way, you’d be there to help him out! What wouldn’t you be able to fix?”

“I’m only assuming, here, but it’s probably tough to out-trick somebody with ten years’ worth of practice with their powers, when you yourself only have half a day’s experience.”

 _“Yomiel…”_ Sissel warned again, though it was hardly as attention-grabbing as he’d intended; in fact, it was pretty quiet.

Lynne smirked, “That didn’t stop him, before.” She stopped for a moment, as something sunk in, “Wait… _you_ killed him? Then why are you mad at me?”

“Because _you_ made me do it!” The blonde snapped, incensed, without taking even a second to think, “If you would have just let me shoot my body like you were _supposed_ to—”

This time, the protest wasn’t even verbalized; whereas the ghostly cat had been able to muster the energy before, he suddenly found himself without a proverbial leg to stand on, on the edge of consciousness

“W-what are you talking about?!” Lynne demanded, “The only thing I shot was that stupid bag you were…carrying…”

And that was the last thing Sissel heard before he passed out.

Missile, who’d perched himself nearby sometime earlier, but gone unnoticed, tuned the argument—it was actually winding down now, but he hadn’t caught why—out and nudged his spirit companion. The cat’s astral projection manifested itself in the connection, but Sissel was curled up so tightly that all he resembled was a fluffy orb, the black coloring interrupted only by an oddly smooth patch of red.

 _“Sissy?”_ The dog called experimentally, failing to receive a reply. He also failed to notice that he hadn’t _created_ the link, this time, but joined one that had been formed a short time earlier… and the timid question quickly redirected Yomiel’s attention.

Missile nudged the cat with his nose, but Sissel still didn’t respond. _“Wowee, Sissy, Miss Kamila always wakes up when I poke her; she says my nose is cold. You must be_ really _tired.”_

Behind the Pomeranian, Yomiel’s avatar frowned and, after a moment’s contemplation, approached the pair. Missile’s ears perked up, and he cocked his head in curiosity, but the dog didn’t question the action. In the gentlest action anybody had observed from him all night, the blonde man scooped the cat up and cradled him in his arms. For all of his clueless exuberance, Missile didn’t feel right in intruding.

\-----------

What Cabanela had been expecting that morning, he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d known that he had to bring Jowd back to prison—or, at the very least, to the justice minister—but beyond that, he really hadn’t had much in the way of a plan. So, naturally, he was surprised when he followed Lynne to the tiny excuse for a living room—because, she claimed, that was where the fair haired detective was—and found that blasted manipulator on the opposite end of the room, dead to the world (how literally he should take that was a mystery even to him)… and hugging that Blue Badger plush toy that the inspector had given his protégé for her birthday, last year.

\-----------

Cabanela felt like a criminal, coming to ‘arrest’ Jowd while little Kamila watched, half-understanding, holding tightly onto her father’s arm.

The be-coated man stroked her hair lovingly and wrapped his other arm around her, “I won’t be gone for long this time, I promise; you don’t mind staying with Lynne a little longer, while we sort everything out, do you?”

Kamila shook her head slowly, briefly glancing down at her teddy bear, before breaking out into a smile, “Nope, Lynne’s like my big sister—and I’ll always have Missile to keep me company! Just…don’t make me wait this time, daddy!” She paused momentarily, eyes wandering across the room, “And you’ll take care of us too, won’t you, Sissy?”

“Kamila…” Jowd started, with the intention of correcting his daughter; Sissel wasn’t something to be claimed like that... and, on top of that, he was dedicated entirely to Yomiel.

The man in question had an unreadable look on his face; he was probably lost in a conversation with his ‘old friend’. Just as the detective was about to turn away, though, the former ghost snapped back to attention.

 _“I think I can manage that.”_ Sissel said a second later, surprising most everybody.

Yomiel took a hesitant step forward; at first Jowd thought it was because Cabanela still had a gun, and wasn’t inclined to trust the man in red, just yet, but, watching him reverently handing Kamila the Blue Badger toy, he realized that the uncertainty stemmed from the gesture itself.

When the action earned him a room’s worth of confused stares, Yomiel crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, though his blush was painfully obvious. “Well… someone needs to look after him while I’m in prison, and I can’t trust anyone _else_ to watch out for the ghost of a cat. They’d think I was crazy.”

 _“And we don’t?”_ Sissel chimed in helpfully, prompting a smirk from Lynne and a round of giggles from Kamila.

“Aren’t you supposed to say something, oh, I don’t know, _profound_ as you see us off?” The blonde man retorted dryly, giving the spectators the distinct impression that this was a regular occurrence.

The tone Sissel used in response suggested that, if he were currently visible, his eyes would be gleaming with mischief, _“What, and waste a perfectly good setup?”_

Feeling rather guilty for interrupting—and then irritated with himself, when he remembered that he was talking about a proven criminal, here—Cabanela cleared his throat in an attempt to remind the two fugitives what was going on, here.

“Visit me, won’t you old friend?”

 _“They couldn’t keep me away even if I was alive.”_


End file.
